


I Can't Help It (I Love You)

by Persiflage



Series: OTP Headcanons [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Disabled Character, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Naked Cuddling, Older Man/Younger Woman, On the Run, POV Phil Coulson, Phil's Canonical Love for Daisy's Voice, Post-Sokovia Accords, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil almost dies, which leads to him revealing his true feelings to Daisy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Help It (I Love You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pippypaleopath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippypaleopath/gifts).



> Written for my [OTP Headcanons](http://pers-books.tumblr.com/post/146098508019/my-otp-headcanons) meme.

Phil Coulson is convinced that he's going to die – and this time it'll be for real. No Nick Fury will be lurking in the wings with some GH-325 to save him or bring him back again, not this time. As he lies on the ground, bleeding profusely, he has only one wish – that he could've seen Daisy one last time (even better, that he could've finally told her how he felt about her). He feels his awareness slipping away, and wonders if he's imagining the way the ground is shaking beneath his cheek.

"Phil! Phil! Come on, Phil, wake UP damn you!"

A familiar voice, sounding both angry and scared, brings him back to consciousness an unknown time later, and he manages to get his eyes open to see Daisy peering down at him, fear and annoyance clear in her dark brown eyes.

"There you are," she says in obvious relief, but he can tell she's still worried. Funny, he'd thought he was dying – he suspects he still might be.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, Phil? Risking yourself like that?" Her voice is a little shrill, and he realises that he's really frightened her, and he feels bad about that.

“I can’t help it. I love you,” he blurts out, too weak from blood loss to consider the consequences of uttering this aloud before the words escape him.

Daisy's eyes go impossibly wide – she looks as if he slapped her, and he immediately feels a surge of remorse for putting her in such a position.

"You need medical help," she tells him, a little unnecessarily, but he can't blame her for stating the obvious when he's just thrown her for a loop.

"Cell phone," he tells her, already feeling weaker than he did when she woke him a few moments ago. "Call for backup." He fights against the encroaching darkness, worried this will be the last time he ever sees Daisy. "Speed dial 1."

He feels her slide her hand into his jeans pocket, fishing out his cell phone, and then he slips into unconsciousness again.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

The next time Coulson wakes up it's to entirely familiar surroundings – beeping machinery, a sterile scent in the air, and a bed beneath him. He's too relieved, at first, to find himself awake, to notice the unusual addition to his room, and it's only when someone at the side of his bed makes a muffled noise that he rolls his head to his left to see – unbelievably – Daisy sitting on a chair at his bedside.

"Daisy?" he whispers, his throat dry, his body feeling as weak as if he'd gone ten rounds with the Other Guy.

"Phil," she says, and reaches for something on the nightstand beside his bed. 

It takes him a moment to focus his eyes and realises she's holding a cup of ice chips. "Jemma said you could have a couple of these when you woke," she says.

"Thank you," he whispers, and is only mildly startled when she doesn't tip the cup towards his mouth, but instead takes a couple of the ice chips from the cup and eases them between his lips. She's watching him intently, and he can't help taking a moment to drink in the sight of her: her cropped hair (shorter than he's ever seen it) is blonde; her dark eyes are red-rimmed, implying she's been crying; she's wearing a pair of black jeans and a worn black punk band t-shirt, and the leather jacket he's seen her wearing before.

"Not that it's not good to see you," he whispers once the ice is beginning to melt in his mouth. "But what are you doing here? I thought you'd call Mack in and then disappear."

"Another time, I would have," she says, and he can hear the bite of anger – and exhaustion – in her voice. "But someone dropped a truth bomb on me right before nearly dying."

"A truth bomb?" he repeats, completely bewildered, then he remembers. "Oh. Oh shit. Daisy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Why did you?" she demands.

He notices that her hands are clenched tightly into fists and he swallows, the last of the ice chips slipping down his throat. "I thought I was dying," he says. "I would've regretted dying without telling you."

"If you were dead, how could you regret it?" she asks, a little unkindly. He gives a helpless shrug. "God, you're an idiot!" she snaps, and he closes his eyes, knowing that she's right.

He's expecting her to walk away, hopes that she and Mack have arranged things so that she can get away safely. He's not expecting to feel warm breath ghosting over his chin and mouth, and his eyes snap open just as Daisy's mouth lands on his. She kisses him carefully, as if she thinks he might break (he might, for all he knows – he's not used to such tenderness), and it doesn't last nearly as long as he'd like, but given how breathless even that little kiss leaves him, he concludes that brief is better right now.

"Daisy?"

"I love you too, you asshole," she says, then bursts into tears.

"Daisy. Daisy." He tries to sit up, but can't, and the sudden sharp pain that trying brings, makes him gasp in shock.

At that moment Jemma Simmons comes hurrying in. She casts a glance at Daisy, but focuses on Coulson, checking the various monitors to which he's been hooked up, and adjusting the IV bag that's currently feeding him he doesn't know what drugs – painkillers probably.

"Sir, it would be best if you keep all movement to a minimum for a few hours more," Simmons says, and he can tell she's a bit exasperated at what a bad patient he is.

"Sorry Jemma," he says contritely, sparing her a momentary glance. His attention's mostly focused on Daisy, who's stopped crying, and is clearly making an effort to get herself under control.

Simmons rests a palm against Daisy's back for a moment, then says, "Try to get some more rest, sir."

He nods, watching as Daisy straightens up, accepts a tissue from Simmons, then blows her nose. After briefly squeezing her shoulder, Simmons leaves, and Coulson gives Daisy a moment to gather herself.

"You should go," he tells her. "Did Mack leave you with an out – I mean, do you have an exit strategy?"

"I'm not leaving," she tells him, and folds her arms over her chest in the classic gesture of stubbornness. 

"Daisy," he whispers, heart thumping painfully, not daring to believe her. "You have to go."

"No." 

He struggles to rein in his emotions at her insistent refusal, but he can't help it – he's too overwhelmed and tears spill from his eyes. 

"Oh Phil," she sighs, then startles him by slipping off her coat and boots before she climbs up onto the bed beside him. 

"What?" he asks, confused.

"You're lucky I love you," she tells him, her tone stern. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone."

"Why are you staying?" he asks worriedly. "You'll probably end up in a cage."

She snorts. "Yeah, Phil, that's not going to happen. They can't cage me." She slides her left arm under his body and gently shifts closer to him so that they're snuggled up together, her right hand resting over his heart. "Go back to sleep," she says softly. "I'll stay here with you."

He turns his head, seeking her mouth, and she leans in, letting him kiss her; after a few moments she kisses him back, and he feels a thrill of arousal coursing through his body.

"Uh-uh," she says, pulling back and pressing her hand more firmly against his chest. "None of that." He gives her a confused look, and she lifts her hand from his chest to his cheek, cupping it gently and giving him such a tender look he feels like hiding his face. "It's no good you getting excited, Phil, you're in no condition to do anything about that." She leans in and presses her forehead to his, which makes him swallow hard – he hadn't imagined Daisy could be like this with him, and he feels a bit unmanned by her.

"Daisy," he whispers, and she lifts her head and gives him a small smile.

"When you've healed," she tells him. "Until then you'll have to make do with careful cuddles and kisses, and talking."

"I can wait," he assures her, even though he aches for more. "I've waited all this time already."

"We both have," she says. She kisses his forehead, then briefly presses her lips to his, before she pulls back again. "Go to sleep, Phil."

He sighs, then closes his eyes, even though he just wants to stare at her and drink her in some more.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ 

It takes a week for Simmons to be convinced that Coulson's recovered enough for duty – a week that he's spent in his quarters, being looked after by Daisy. As far as he can gather from his brief conversations with Mack and May, Daisy's presence is being ignored – not that she's wandering the base for all and sundry to see: she only leaves his room to shower and change her clothes when necessary. The rest of the time she's either lying on his bed beside him, or sitting on the chair next to it. 

They talk – a little hesitantly at first on both sides – about their relationship, discovering that they'd fallen for each other very early on: Coulson tells her that he'd had fallen for her via her Rising Tide podcasts, something she teases him about mercilessly once he reveals that particular fact to her, meanwhile Daisy had fallen for his courage at the moment when he'd put his gun down in order to talk to Mike at the station.

"I liked your style," she confesses, her fingers toying with the buttons on his pyjama top.

"I thought men in suits were scary?" he teases, and she pretends to scowl at him before leaning in and kissing him, her mouth relentless against his. He becomes aware that she's unbuttoned his pyjama top when he feels her fingers trace down his chest just to the right of his scar.

"Daisy," he mutters, a bit embarrassed by how arousing that simple touch is.

"Phil," she whispers back, then tweaks his nipple and a bolt of lust shoots straight to his cock.

"Fuck." His emphatic, shocked exclamation elicits a soft giggle and he glares at her, but she just smirks at him, then pushes his top open so she can see his chest.

"Does it worry you?" she asks quietly. "Me seeing this?"

He shakes his head. "It would have once, but not anymore, not when you've seen this." He lifts his stump.

She nods, obviously understanding. "Jemma tells me you're recovered enough for some moderate exercise," she says, and he gives her a bit of a blank look before he realises what she's saying.

"You didn't – " He stops and swallows, sure he must be blushing like a schoolboy.

"I didn't specifically tell her that I was hoping to jump your bones," she says, and he suspects she was going to say 'fuck you', but changed her mind. "But I guess she had her suspicions."

"Oh."

"Oh." She mimics him, then smirks. "You're all flustered, Phil, aren't you?"

"No," he says, a bit too vehemently.

She chuckles. "I kinda like you being flustered, Phil."

He raises his eyebrows at this. "Why?"

"Because it means it's a big deal for you, too."

"Why would you think it wasn't?" he asks, a bit confused.

"Well you're quite a bit older than me, so you've got quite a lot more experience than I have."

He coughs. "Not that much more experience," he tells her, feeling bashful now.

"No?" She sounds a bit doubtful, and he shakes his head.

"I don't make it a habit of fucking everyone who makes eyes at me," he says, feeling a bit defensive.

She tilts her head to one side, and he wonders what about that sentence has caught her attention. "'Everyone'," she repeats. "Not 'every woman'."

He clears his throat, feeling a bit nervous, but he keeps his eyes on hers as he says quietly, "I'm bisexual."

She nods. "I had wondered," she says, which makes him simultaneously blush and raise his eyebrows. "It seemed to me that you had a bit of a crush on Trip, and I've heard the way you talk about Captain America, Phil."

He ducks his head, then takes a deep breath, before lifting his head to ask, rather diffidently, "You don't mind?"

She gives a casual little shrug. "I'm bi too, Phil."

His eyes widen, then he asks softly, "May?"

It's Daisy's turn to duck her head with a blush as she asks, "Is it that obvious?"

"No," he says quickly, trying to reassure her. "Just – in retrospect, I can see it."

"She doesn't know."

He bites his lip. "She might," he suggests. "But she'd never say anything unless you did – she and I have both dealt with younger agents having crushes on us occasionally."

She nods, then asks, "Do you want your prosthetic?"

"Yes." His hand might not be real, but he still wants to have the use of both hands if they're going to have sex.

She fetches it from the case on his dresser and fits it in place for him with a nonchalance he finds both shocking and reassuring. She takes both his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together, then leans in to kiss him very thoroughly. He moans into her mouth when she bites down on his bottom lip, and she lets go of his hands to hold his shoulders as she moves her body over his, straddling his lap.

"Okay?" she asks, and he nods mutely, feeling the heat between her thighs against his rapidly stiffening cock (he's wearing thin pyjama pants, while she's wearing her red dress, the one he thinks of as her Lola dress, so there's not much fabric between them).

"Daisy," he says, his voice husky. "Daisy." 

She smiles at him, then eases him out of the pyjama top. "I do like your body," she tells him, so casually. "You're kinda gorgeous."

He gives her a disbelieving look: he's nearly 53 years old, one-armed, and heavily scarred. She must read his scepticism in his face, because she clicks her tongue at him, then traces her fingertips along his shoulders, dragging her thumbs across his collarbones. 

"You've got very broad shoulders," she observes. "And very powerful arms." Her hands slide down to curl around his biceps, giving them a quick squeeze, then she slides her hands down to his hands, lacing their fingers together again. "And your hands, even this one – " She lifts the left one. "are very sexy." She squeezes his hands, then lets go to plant both palms on his chest. 

"I like your broad chest, as well." She tugs lightly on some of the salt and pepper hair. "I don't usually like guys to have body hair, but it's sexy on you."

"Daisy." He almost can't believe her – but her expression is so serious and simultaneously so loving, that he has to accept what she's telling him.

"And then there's your abs." She trails a finger down his torso, and it's almost ticklish, but not quite. "And the hip dents." She drags her thumbs over them, after pushing the waistband of his pyjama pants down. "And you've got strong legs," she says. When he raises his eyebrows at her, she smirks. "I've seen you training, Phil – I know what you can do with your thighs."

He can't help blushing at this, and she laughs for quite a long time at that.

"And your feet," she says. "I love seeing you barefoot. Never felt that about someone's feet before."

He shakes his head at her in fond amusement, but he doesn't try to protest her commentary as he doesn't fancy his chances in that argument.

She leans towards him and asks him to take off her dress, and he is very glad he's got two hands to allow him to help her to get undressed. She ditches her bra too, tossing it onto the floor, and he sucks in a breath, suddenly even more aroused.

"You're pretty damn gorgeous yourself, Daisy," he says, a bit breathless. He clasps her shoulders, then slides his hands down her upper arms, before cupping her breasts in both hands. She moans when he thumbs her nipples, and he leans in to kiss her hungrily, his hands busy with her breasts until she pulls away from him and stands up, before reaching for his pyjama pants. He lifts his ass and she drags them off, and this time she's the one to suck in a breath as she stares at his erection.

"Fuck, Phil," she whispers, then she drags off her panties before kneeling over his lap. "I need you in me."

"Condom," he says, and tilts his head at the nightstand, his hands already on her hips. 

She leans sideways and tugs open the drawer, snatches out the unopened pack of condoms, and pulls out a foil packet. "Let me?" she asks, and he feels his breath hitch in his chest before he nods vigorously.

She rolls the condom down him swiftly, and he bites his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself calm. She gives the base of his cock a quick squeeze, then lifts herself up, and they guide his sheathed cock into her together, moaning simultaneously at the sensations of his cock filling her slick heat.

"Fuck," he gasps, tightening his grip on her hips.

"Yeah," she answers, clearly as breathless as he is. "Phil." She rocks her hips, and he moans again. "Hold on tight." Her voice is a whisper and he obediently tightens his hold on her as she begins to move energetically, her body rising and falling so that the tip of his cock is barely inside her, and then he's buried deep inside her.

He can't help chanting her name breathlessly as she drives them closer and closer to climax, and he hopes they can come together. Daisy must have the same thought in her mind because she suddenly drops her right hand (she's been clasping his shoulders to keep herself steady), and after a moment he feels vibrations on his cock as it pushes inside her, and he realises she's vibrating the air around her clit, and the vibrations are spilling onto his cock too.

"Oh fuck. Daisy. Daisy. I'm – " Before he can finish he feels her muscles tighten around his cock, and that's enough to trigger his own orgasm. 

"Phil." She breathes his name like it's a benediction, then slumps against his chest, and he decides he likes sex while sitting up – it's not something he's ever really tried before. He presses a kiss to her brow, then her lips find his, and she kisses him soft and sweet.

"Nap?" she asks, and he chuckles softly.

"Yeah, nap – that's – that'd be a good thing."

She grins, then carefully lifts herself off his lap, and removes the condom, before helping him to slide down in the bed, curling her body against his side in what he's beginning to consider a characteristic positioning for her – her head's on his right shoulder, her right hand pressed to his heart, and her left arm's under him, holding him close.

"I love you, Phil Coulson." She presses her lips to the corner of his mouth.

"Love you, Daisy Johnson." He turns his head to briefly brush his lips against hers, then takes a deep breath, feeling better than he has done since he almost bled out and died a week ago. His eyes close and he tightens his right arm around Daisy, feeling himself sliding into sleep as she presses her hand more firmly to his heart. His last muzzy thought before sleep claims him is that he's a lucky man.


End file.
